friend, a huge part of my past and hopefully a huge part of my future, and he and the girls undoubtedly needed all the support they could get right now. But was I considering the idea because of them or because of recent developments involving a gorgeous man and orgasms?
It was way too soon to be thinking of something more permanent with Dominic. Good grief, we hadn’t really known each other a whole week—we’d had some amazing sex together, sure, but sex didn’t constitute a relationship. At least, not one that I could commit to. I’d be returning to the city after Christmas. Unless we tried long distance or Dominic moved to the city—the first which held no appeal, and the later which was a big no because of his PTSD—I didn’t think either of us should attempt labeling this as anything serious.
Upending my life because of intense chemistry and a couple of nights of great sex with Dominic didn’t make sense, even if my chest tightened at that statement.
…
After Hal left, I got a call from the mechanic with news that my car wouldn’t be ready today due to a part not arriving. Good thing I’d already planned on staying until Christmas Day.
Once the girls finished their breakfast—oatmeal with dried cranberries and honey, a habit they got from their mom—and we headed out for a walk. Marnie was careful to point out all the things her dog could sniff if she got a dog, and that she’d really love a dog, and did I think that Santa would bring her a dog?
I told her that I didn’t think Santa specialized in animals. “I mean, how would he get them all on the sleigh? How would he keep the dogs from biting the cats and the cats from eating the birds and the snakes from eating everything? Sounds a little too complicated to me.”
“It might happen,” Marnie insisted, her hair curled tight to her head around the edges of her hat. “If there’s a chance he’ll bring it, I should ask, shouldn’t I?”
A dog hadn’t been an option before Ariel left. She was allergic to them. Was this the definition of a silver lining or something a little sadder than that? I didn’t know.
I turned the girls back toward the house. “Come on. Let’s go to the grocery store, then we’ll head to the mall and visit Santa.” I’d check the mall’s schedule before we left, though—it might be the day before Christmas Eve, but I didn’t want to get there and find out that Santa’s visiting hours were over.
I got all the ingredients to make shepherd’s pie at the store and was hey there’d and well, hello’d so much it was like I couldn’t turn a corner without a new person I vaguely recognized bumping into us. Stranger still, they were all…friendly. I hadn’t expected that. By the time I left Edgewood a decade ago, I’d felt like the only people around who hadn’t painted me as guilty by association were Hal and his family, Dinah, and a few of my mom’s friends. Some of that perception was undoubtedly worsened by teenage angst, but it couldn’t all have been. People had been wary of me. Some of them had been downright accusatory. And now? Smiles, handshakes, and gentle questions.
The worst was when I met my old math teacher, Mr. Fiddler, down the dairy aisle. Ours was a small high school, and he’d been one of two math teachers for the entire school body. He’d been Everly’s teacher, too, and friends with her parents. After she was killed in the car accident with my father, I was convinced that Mr. Fiddler wanted nothing to do with me. He and I didn’t make eye contact the rest of the semester.
Seeing him face-to-face again was literally shocking, as though I’d gotten a static charge on the tip of my nose.
He blinked at me without speaking for a moment. “Well. Maxfield.” He pushed his glasses up his long, stork-like nose and stared at me. “Oh. This is such a…surprise.”
“Hi, Mr. Fiddler,” I said, feeling as awkward as he looked.
“You, ah…” He looked at the girls, who were staring at the goodies behind the glass doors and paying absolutely no attention to us. “You have kids now?”
“Oh, no. They’re Hal’s.”
“Right, right, the older Mr. Bell. All A’s, very good.”
Was that how he remembered us, by our grades? Honestly, I’d rather be in his head as “B’s and C’s, rather disappointing” than “the son of